Carnaval de la Lumière

I've been looking at this book for weeks now, and I've heard the scuttlebutt on what they are, what they do. I haven't felt like writing, or felt I had anything I would want to commit to the finality of paper, or even, anything that anyone would want to read. I have a feeling if I continue to write in this thing, it will become some sort of depressing catharsis for all that is bottled up inside of me. The strangeness of this place, of the people and (etc) that are here falls on me like a light rain. I don't understand why I am so accepting of this, perhaps it's because I was raised on horror movies, science fiction, and special effects most of my life. Perhaps I have always believed, or hoped that something more interesting than humans existed so we could have a barometer to judge our own humanity, and intelligence by. I am certain we are still coming in second in a race of two. Blah, blah, blah. What do I want? Eyeliner and some black nail polish. Hey, I'm a Gypsy, I can get away with being strange and flamboyant, right?
--JW

I'll be baking some pecan pies. I'm sorry I haven't been able to make more. But I'll make sure there's a piece with your name on it.

-Ned